


Seasons of Love

by transmarkcohen



Category: Rent - Larson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-11 20:02:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15323205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transmarkcohen/pseuds/transmarkcohen





	Seasons of Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HeadlinesBreadlinesBlowMyMind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeadlinesBreadlinesBlowMyMind/gifts).



       Mark walked slowly and steadily into the old cemetery. Leaves crunched under his feet, reminding him that fall had come once again. He no longer thought of it as taunting him. It was nice. The sun warmed his face and the shade of the trees cooled it. The deeper he walked, the more trees grew. For every grave dug in this cemetery, a seed had been planted. A reminder of the circle of life.  
       He wished he could say the same for his cane. Nice, polished wood, sure, and better than others he'd been shown or even had. He stopped a moment to rest. No denying that he was definitely old-no longer young and reckless. And it seemed that some of his worry had faded along with the recklessness.  
      Was he alone? Well, yes. But bikers rode past the cemetery, as did people walking their dogs, and children playing, and their parents hurriedly trying to catch up with them. It made Mark smile. He couldn't believe that he was older than these parents. _Forty years older,_ in some cases. And-maybe if things had been different-he would've had kids of his own someday.  
       And in his life, he _was_ alone now, he supposed you could say. He had reached the spot where the newest grave was-and the name it bore was a somewhat painful reminder. But he wasn't here to be painfully reminded. He was here to remember, and reminisce, and honor the friends he'd lost. And this newest grave had on it the name Joanne Jefferson.  
       He attempted to sit, but, realizing it would be a bad idea, simply leaned on his cane instead. He was the Narrator, he was sure of it now-perhaps all these years he'd simply been a Narrator-in-Training and they had led up to this. He shook his head of these thoughts. They were...odd, though he let them come from time to time. But now was not a time to think them.  
       "Hello," he said pleasantly, as if he were simply talking to Joanne. "I thought I should come see you. Did you know today is Halloween? October 31st." He paused, hesitant. He glanced at a grave close by-and this one had the name Roger Davis. "My birthday." He turned back to Joanne's. "Of course you knew, I didn't have trouble telling you a few years ago. I mean-" He paused to think again. "I did tell you before. I believe. Is my memory already going?" He laughed. "How silly. And...somewhat amazing."  
       Mark walked a bit to the left. "Hey, Roger. So. You'll probably tease me for the fact that it's my eightieth birthday."  
       The wind seemed to respond to this, and Mark smiled.  
       "I knew you would. I'm old, right? Old and..." Mark fell silent. Or perhaps he'd just forgotten what he'd been going to say. "I'm sure you and Mimi are enjoying yourselves. And that you're with Collins and Angel, too. And..."  
       Mark turned around, and let out a sigh as heavy as it was sad. "Maureen. You were taken too soon. I've long forgiven you for acting how you did in our relationship, but you hardly deserved it. A tragic accident...or...maybe I'm just quoting the newspaper. I feel I've lost the spark in my writing over time." A dry laugh emanated from Mark's throat. "And you'll tease me for that. Alright. Fine. I deserve it, for that one screenplay with the squirrel..."  
       He walked over to the last, and oldest, grave and rested his hand on it. "Angel. I talked about you in your eulogy. How you helped those tourists find the Circle Line...you are always such a great help to people. Kind and caring and you aren't afraid to stand up for what you believe in, though it never feels harsh. I love you. We all do." Mark paused, again, trying to form words, and for the first time in a while, trying not to cry. "And I miss you all. But...I'll join you soon enough."  
       And with that, Mark walked home and out of the cemetery, knowing his time was running out, and finally being okay with it.

 


End file.
